The Present Will Not Last
by stnaley
Summary: Cato and Clove at the feast. Clato one-shot. Rated T for one use of strong language.


"So that's the plan, then?" I question, turning to face the girl, much smaller than I am, "You'll go to the Cornucopia and get our pack, I'll circle the clearing and pick off anyone I spot." She might be small, but I figure she can handle herself.

"Yep, I can't wait to put out the flames of the '_Girl on Fire_'" Clove says, emphasising the last three words with a mocking tone. She stares up with me, her deep brown eyes wide, smug grin placed firmly across her cheeks. I notice one or two tracker jacker sting marks from the other night, when the simple, yet pretty, girl from One had fallen asleep and sealed her own fate. Not to mention, almost the rest of ours. She was lovely, but I didn't care. The girl in front of me right now is all I need. We can win this together. According to Claudius Templesmith, the announcer, at least.

"We're almost there, we'd better split up," she says, nudging me toward my mission.

"See you soon. Good luck!" I give her a thumbs up, too. She hesitates, only slightly, but it was definitely there.

"Ha, like I'll need it," she says, hovering back a second to remove any unnecessary weight, which apparently includes her whole backpack. All she's relying on are her knives. I have a feeling that's all she'll need, anyway. I watch her head off at a steady jog, waiting until she's out of sight before I move on.

Walking as steadily as I can whilst trying to focus my thoughts, I can't seem to get one of them out of my head. Clove just strolled happily about my mind as if she owned it, which was odd, because I didn't even think I could imagine her strolling, let alone happily. Unless of course she'd just gutted the 'Girl on Fire'.

She'd told me numerous times of how she wanted to "tear up that bitch's face" or "slice her to pieces", since Katniss, the girl from Twelve, had received a higher training score than my poor Clove.

My _poor Clove,_ I think, _it has a ring to it_.

We really could have something, when we come out of this together. A future, a life together. Just us, together. I've tried to explain a hundred times over how I feel about her, but I'm not too great with words.

But I will tell her, when we win.

I'll include how I watched her training everyday, admired her precision and skill, and fell in love with her elegance and grace. I'll recall the Reaping, and how shocked I was when she volunteered. Honestly, I'd not expected it in the least.

I suppose then I'd have to tell her she was the reason I volunteered, as well.

There was something within me that was telling me she needed protecting.

Piercing my thoughts and bringing me back to the present are screams which confirm my gut feeling. Someone's shouting my name. It's a voice, filled with terror and distress, I never wanted to hear.

Before my brain can acknowledge it happening, my legs are taking me towards the source of the painful screams. She's still alive, I'll get there in time. I know I will. I have to.

"CATO! CA-" she's stopped.

I don't stop running. I've walked further than I thought I had and this is taking longer than I was hoping it would. My lungs burn, and my heart feels like it's going to explode, but my mind tells me to keep going.

Panting, I burst through the tree line to find two tributes sprinting off in different directions, one tossing a bloodied rock behind him.

_You're fucking dead, Thresh_, but not yet. I see her lying, crumpled on the grass near the mouth of the Cornucopia. I hadn't realised I'd stopped to take in the scene, but my legs are off again, speeding faster than a bullet towards the one person for whom I'd ever felt some form of compassion or love.

"Clove! Get up, please! Clove! CLOVE!" The cries throw themselves in her direction, but I get no response, not a single one.

Skidding to a halt in front of her, and collapsing to my knees, I feel them erupt from my eyes. Tears. I'm doing the one thing I promised myself I wouldn't, but I can't help it.

I caress her small hand, remembering to feel her wrist for a pulse. It's still there, for now.

Scanning her for injuries, my fingers come to a dent under a now matted patch of her soft, dark hair. I draw my hand back, to find them stained with blood. There's a dent in her skull. Her brain has obviously received damage, and I'm not going to get any response. That doesn't stop me. I wrench her body into my arms and hold her close to my chest, tears pouring out onto her reddened scalp. I'm going to lose her, and I don't want to. I'm only here for her, and if she's gone I've got no reason to go on. If it had come ever down to it, I'd have gladly taken my life in place of hers.

Why didn't I tell her I'd go to the Cornucopia instead?

_"Oh I'm faster than you, and smaller, and better from a distance. I'll be fine, Cato."_

Those words burn in the back of my mind; because she isn't. She isn't ever going to be _fine_ again. She'll never feel any emotion again.

I want to carry her away to tend to her wounds, but I'm not a healer. There's no amount of bandaging that can prevent what's to come, and this thought just provokes the fountain of despair leaving my body even further.

She begins to tremble, and I'm hit with a wave of emotion again, without a clue of how to help her, the girl I love.

"Stay with me, Clove," I manage to choke out, through a chain of sobs, "Stay with m-"

My final plea is cut short by the cannon, signalling her death.

It's a while before my brain registers the last few minutes, and I find myself still sitting, holding Clove. I can't get up. It's like my brain is telling me that I have to, but my legs are refusing to leave her behind.

With all the force I can muster, I'm able to get to my knees, hand still in hers, when I think I feel her grip tighten on mine. My mind is playing tricks on me, or the Gamemakers. Either way, it's just false hope.

Her eyes remain fearful, longing for an escape she never received. I place a hand over them, and slide her eyelids down slowly. Ever so lightly, I press my lips to her forehead.

Finally, I pry my fingers from her cooling hand and will myself to take a few steps back.

The hovercraft materializes just above the Cornucopia and raises her into the air. I'm about to call out for her, but there's no use.

I've lost her.

I'll never be able to watch her practice again.

I'll never watch the beautiful girl with the knives again.

I'll never grow old with her, marry her, give her a wonderful life.

But there is one thing I can do. I can fight for her. I can win, for her. I'm a Career from District Two. I'm the strongest tribute in the 74th Hunger Games.

Clove deserves to be avenged, and that's what I'll do, even if it means risking my own life in the process.

At least my final act will be anything but selfish.

It will be for her.

For _my poor Clove._


End file.
